


a fulcrum in the mind

by sci_fis



Series: Inspired by Siken [6]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Dean would never, Degradation, Forced Hair Cutting, Gendered Insults, Hurt No Comfort, Ignored Safeword, Kink Shaming, M/M, Nightmares, Psychological Trauma, Torture, Verbal Humiliation, fake evil Dean, flashbacks of Hell, i apologise in advance for this, reference to rape fantasies, safe-wording
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-04-22
Updated: 2019-04-22
Packaged: 2020-01-24 02:58:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,013
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18562522
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sci_fis/pseuds/sci_fis
Summary: There is a fulcrum inthe mind that can be moved as well. I do not know whatelse to say about this.-- Richard SikenSam has a horrific nightmare/flashback from hell. Dean can’t help.





	a fulcrum in the mind

It starts like any other nightmare about his time in hell.

This is the thing about his nightmares: they’re all real. Every single time he dreams about being back in hell, it’s a flashback to something that Lucifer and Michael forced him to go through back then, for what felt like centuries of pain and torture.

Their favorite game was to take the relationship between him and Dean and turn it into something unrecognizable. 

This time, he’s bound facedown on a bench made to restrain him at the right height for fucking. An oversized dental gag is forced into his mouth, stretching his lips back and displaying his teeth, distorting his facial features into something grotesque. At least that’s the way it looks to Sam in the mirror he’s bound in front of.

“Sammy,” Dean’s voice says, and then his brother steps into view. 

“Dean,” Sam tries to say, but it comes out garbled, unintelligible through the unforgiving gag. He’s relieved, so relieved. He knew Dean would come for him. 

Dean kneels in front of him, running his thumb over Sam’s stretched-open lips, his bared gums. “Look at you,” he says. “So fucking ugly. Nothing but a set of holes for fucking.”

Sam shakes his head. Dean doesn’t realize what’s going on. He thinks it’s a game, one of the games they play that’s for them, just the two of them. Sam ignores the warning bells in his head. Dean has never called him ugly, not even when they’re role-playing and he calls Sam humiliating names: it’s always names Sam has selected beforehand, words that turn Sam on, spoken with just the right amount of underlying affection, the right kind of soothing touch, to let Sam know how much Dean loves him. 

Sam tries to speak again, to warn Dean about Lucifer and Michael.

“Shut the fuck up,” Dean says, and slaps him hard across the face. Sam’s head snaps to the side, shock running through his body like an electrical charge.

“Whore.” Dean stands up, yanks Sam’s head up by his hair—it’s shoulder-length now, or at least that’s the way it looks in the mirror—and spits right into his forced-open mouth.

“You love this fucking girly hair way too much. Time to teach you a real lesson, bitch.” Dean is brandishing a pair of scissors now, long and sharp and wickedly pointed.

Dean reaches for Sam’s long bangs, grabbing as many strands as he can in his fist and yanking Sam’s head up by his hair, forcing him to look in the mirror.

No, Sam says. No, please. But he’s only screaming the words in his head, his body petrified in horror.

The snick of the scissors and the locks of hair floating to the ground are enough to jolt Sam into movement. The safe signal. He’s never had to use it before, not for real; Dean, always hyperaware of the slightest sign of distress from Sam, always makes him repeat his safe signal about halfway through a scene, just to be sure that Sam’s capable of asking for an out if he needs to. If Sam isn’t gagged, they use the usual words: green to continue, yellow for a short break, red for stop everything now. 

Again, Sam’s never had to use ‘red’; the one time he used ‘yellow’ was enough to freak Dean out completely, his overprotective older brother relaxing only when Sam explained that it was just a cramp in his leg that made him want to pause.

This time, Sam snaps his fingers thrice. 

Dean ignores him and keeps hacking away at his hair, taunting him throughout. “So proud of your hair, aren’t you, Rapunzel? Think it makes you look so pretty. You’re gonna be ugly inside and out when I’m done with you, you fucking cunt.” Snip, snip, snip. 

Frantic, hyperventilating, Sam snaps his fingers over and over and over again until they’re numb.

Dean just laughs at him. “No safe words here, little brother. I’ve been way too soft with you, but all that’s gonna change now. You’ll be treated like the slutty little whore you are. Forget credit card scams and hustling pool. I’m going to whore out your bitch cunt at every truck stop on every highway in America.”

Sobbing, drool and snot dripping down his hideous face, Sam shakes his head over and over.

“Who are you trying to fool?” An ugly sneer twists Dean’s beautiful features into something Sam has never seen before, never imagined he’d see. “You’re fucking loving this, finally being treated the way you’ve been begging me to all these years. You with your sick little rape fantasies, wanting to be tied and gagged and used. You know who has such fantasies? Sick, twisted people. Pathetic cunts who deserve nothing except to be raped over and over. You’re gonna be a full-time comedump from now on, you little shit.” 

He kneels beside Sam’s sobbing, struggling body, a cruel hand twisting painfully in Sam’s hair, forcing him to look at his mutilated head. Dean taps the pointed end of the scissors against Sam’s nipples and trails the sharp instrument down Sam’s chest, over his bound cock, pausing at his balls. He caresses them with the scissors, a parody of a lover’s gentle touch. “Maybe I should cut these off too, while I’m at it. Bitches don’t need balls. What do you say, fellas?”

Behind him, Lucifer and Michael laugh and laugh.

 

*

 

Sam wakes up screaming. 

“Sammy,” Dean is saying over and over again, trying to shush him, his arms like fiery brands around Sam.

Sam tears himself free, shaking uncontrollably, throwing the covers off. He stumbles to the bathroom and slams the door shut, locking it behind him and sliding down to the floor with his back against the door.

“Sammy,” Dean says from outside. “Sam, c’mon, open the door. Please. You’re freaking me out, man.”

The pounding in Sam’s head grows more and more painful every time Dean knocks on the door.

“Red,” he croaks out, hoping his voice will carry through the hollow wood. “Dean. Red.”


End file.
